


The Act of Finding

by cat_77



Category: Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M, Takes place at the Leoch after the wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-17
Updated: 2014-11-17
Packaged: 2018-02-25 19:44:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2633927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cat_77/pseuds/cat_77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing simply means it has not been found yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Act of Finding

**Author's Note:**

> For the "disappearing" square at hc_bingo.
> 
> * * *

It was the strangest thing, really. It had never happened before, not that she noticed, but it was most definitely happening now, and with alarming regularity. The thing was, she was yet to catch the culprit, and wasn't completely certain she desired to do so.

Each morning, Jaime would rise to tend to the horses. She would dither about for a bit, and eventually make her way down to the repository that no longer completely felt like a dungeon. It was so near the kitchens that she would usually return any tray or dishes Jamie might bring up either for breakfast or as a snack from the night before. Given what was fast becoming their nightly activities, he claimed they both needed the extra sustenance. On a more personal level, she might have taken a small amount of joy at the decadence of lounging with sweets in bed for an extended period, state of dress not withstanding.

On those days, nothing would be amiss upon her return. On others, say when she decided to secret away a tasty tidbit for later, it was almost always gone missing.

First, she questioned if Mrs. Fitz's diligent army of cleaning personnel had gotten to what was undoubtedly determined to be a mess and disposed of it as they saw fit. However, she noticed that, should she leave the item in question atop any sort of crockery, the crockery itself remained, crumbs and all. If the item was left in a kerchief, the kerchief itself might be missing, only to be returned the next day, not exactly folded but near enough to its original state.

Logic dictated it was likely Jamie, indulging in that which she herself had intended to do so. However, the disappearing act continued even when he was on an extended overnight excursion, and on days he swore he was busy breaking a new piebald all day. She hesitated to bring it up with him directly as it seemed such a silly little thing. If he wanted a midday sweet, and didn't want to harass the kitchens for it, so be it. Especially since she herself was doing the exact same thing.

The other reason she did not wish to bring it up was fear it was an actual thief. She checked and all the bits and bobbles people had gifted her with for her services were still safely tucked away, as was the far more valuable jewelry Jaime himself had given her. It was never anything of what would be determined traditionally of worth, but always food and always something far too large and far too neatly removed to be the fault of a rodent.

She didn't fear that she would happen across the thief at an inopportune time, but rather that the thief in question was simply a hungry bairn that had found an easy target. At that, the fear again was not for herself, but rather for the child. If a boy was physically nailed to the town square for want of a few bannocks, a lightened charge as she was led to believe, just what would they do in the castle proper for a repeat offender?

She asked that very question in a round about way one evening while curled up around Jaime, hoping to seem vague and settling for him simply assuming she was talking about someone other than herself.

"Well, I suppose if the bairn stole from his own mother, it'd be her right to punish him as she saw fit," he mused. "Probably a good switch to the backside, though Duncan's own wife once took the switch to her boy's hand itself. Let the marks be a sign to the others of what he'd done."

That didn't sound quite so bad, not in comparison to punishments involving the removal of body parts, so she hummed in agreement. Of course she should have known that wasn't the half of it.

"If'n it be another family's possessions, food or no, a more right example would be made," he continued. He shrugged and she felt the movement beneath her cheek. "Maybe brought to the laird, probably some hard work while he'd be healin' from the beating." At her less than pleased response to that, he explained, "They've brought dishonor to their family, thieving like that. By making a show of it, they present that they're trying to remedy the behavior and put 'em on the path of right again."

She mulled that over for a few days and determined that she could not be comfortable with the responsibility of such a punishment. Instead, she thought of ways to catch the rascal and make the child, for she was fairly certain it was one, find better alternatives for earning a little extra padding to their belly.

A poke through her supplies to try to find something non-harmful, and she had a plan. Part of her wished to skulk in the corridors to see the plan to its full fruition, but she resisted assuming the culprit had a watch on her to make certain she was well and truly gone before they made their move.

She had expected the need to perfect the setup over the course of several days, but found she truly had been marked as an easy target and was hit upon near immediately. She was barely away three hours and was in the process of wrapping splints around two fingers of a young man who had mishandled his duties, or possibly his brother if the alternate story was to be believed, when one of the scullery maids knocked upon her door, a knotted haired little wretch in her grasp. The maid was smarter than most though, and held the child's arm solely with the length of her apron, unwilling to touch her directly.

"Leoran has developed a most horrid rash," the mother explained once admitted, the man now gone and contemplating how he was to function with sticks for fingers for the next several days. "She han't a bit of it this morn, but her hands an' face are covered! There's this powder in 'er hair an' dress, but I haven't a snot what it could be."

She nodded as if listening and made a show of checking the child over. Hands, yes. Smears across the face, yes. If she was to guess, she'd say it extended up the arms a bit, and maybe down the back of the child's neck, most definitely on her knees as there was a glimpse of it through the torn skirt. Yes, the little basket comprised mostly of stinging nettle and dried and powdered beets had most definitely done its job when it fell from the doorjamb and landed on the thief; it was, after all, not called stinging without reason.

"Let me see if I can determine what caused this," she offered diplomatically. "I don't wish to keep you from your duties, so little Leoran can stay here while I sort it out." 

"Thank ye," the maid said and, after a quick admonishment to behave, darted out to do just that.

Claire turned slowly to face the child, arms crossed before her and as stern of a face as she could manage considering how miserable the thing looked. "If I were to venture to my room right now, I would find a large pile of red dust and dead flowers on the floor, wouldn't I?" she guessed.

Large blue eyes grew almost comically wider and darted from side to side. The door had just clicked shut and there were no viable escape routes, a fact Claire herself knew far too well from her time in the room when she first arrived. Eventually, reluctantly, the child nodded.

Claire tapped a finger on her own arm and saw Leoran dolefully scratch at those much smaller and far more stained with red. "Is there a reason you felt the need to steal? The laird feeds his people well, but does not take kindly to thieves."

Dirty lips fell open and she heard from the culprit herself for the first time, a protest of, "I din't thieve!"

A breath and an attempt to try to match her expression with that of Sister Carolyn from her own youth, and Claire pointed out, "You took someone else's property without permission to do so, I dare say that is the very definition of the word."

At that, Leoran looked frightened, her bottom lip trembled before she sunk her teeth into it to try to hold it in place. When she finally released it, it was solely to say, "I..." but apparently she could find no further defense past the single syllable.

"Do you know what happens to thieves?" Claire asked. She didn't wait for the knotted head to shake, but pressed on with, "A switch if you're lucky, a hand if you're not. I recently watched a boy not much past your own age sit with his ear nailed to a post for hours and it was deemed a light sentence. Tell me, Leoran, would you like to sit like a dunce for all to see, pinned in place while they guess your crime and tell tales that will follow you until you're old and gray?"

The response was not what she expected and she resisted the urge to hang her head when the child asked, "Mistress Claire, what's a dunce?"

"A person who makes very poor decisions in life due to an extreme lack of intelligence," she replied.

"Like Fiarn? He tried ta sneak some eggs in the hen house an' grabbed the cock instead," she said conspiringly. "His ma din't even wallop him fer it, said the scars on his hands an' arms would teach more than the ones on his rear."

Claire retained her composure through sheer force of will. "And do you think your mother should wallop you for your crime?" she asked.

Blue eyes grew wide again. "My brother still can't sit still an' he got his three day past!" Leoran exclaimed.

"And yet you still stole, and therefore must make retribution for your crime," Claire told her.

Leoran scratched at a knee and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "This in't enough?"

Claire searched her mind for something appropriate, but not scarring. The child needed to learn, but she also didn't need to be punished publicly in a way that would remain with her for a lifetime, not for a few sweets. She imagined it was much like what Jamie had thought about Laoghaire, she was called out in a way, but not actually damaged. "Three days," she decided.

"Miss?" Leoran asked, clearly confused.

"You will report here for three days' time," Claire repeated, nodding as she convinced herself of the matter. "You will wash and fold cloth for bandages, and learn how to keep them clean until you need them. You do a fine enough job and I might even consider today your first day. After, you will ask your mother or Mrs. Fitz what duties you can assist with as you clearly have far too much free time on your hands if you have managed to find this much trouble."

The child seemed to mull it over for a moment before she verified, "No switch?"

"Not this time," Claire confirmed. "Though I dare say you will not be granted such leniency a second time." She doubted the child would try her again, just as she doubted anyone else in the Leoch would let her off quite as easy.

"An' the itch?" Leoran asked hopefully, raised white-tinted lines amongst the red where she had already scratched seemed to highlight the plea.

"Even with treatment, it should take a good day and a half to disappear completely," she warned, but reached for the appropriate vials. The girl nodded readily enough, apparently pleased the effects weren't permanent. "Go scrub as much of the red off as you can and we can get started," she relented with a nod towards the basin in the corner of the room.

Leoran ran to do just that and Claire turned to begin her preparations, startled as always to find Jaime standing in the doorway, offering a silent applause in greeting. She wandered over to him and kissed the smugness of his face, never quite sure how he and only he seemed able to open the heavy hinges without a squeak. 

"And here you thought you didn't have it in you," he teased. He wrapped his arms around her to ease the sentiment however, so she let it pass.

"I doubt I will ever be comfortable with beating a child," she warned. Her upbringing didn't lend her to that idea and she simply couldn't imagine ever wishing harm on one who was simply learning the ins and outs of life. "I chose something to discover just who was the culprit and to let them know I was watching."

"You used your herb lore the way my da used the switch," he corrected. "You taught a lesson she daren't to forget anytime soon. Same concept, diff'ent method."

She frowned, not quite liking the comparison, even if she felt there was a hint of fairness to it all. "Hopefully it will stop her from doing something that will hurt her right and proper and all that. She's a Scott though, pigheaded as the rest of you lot, so there's no telling if the lesson will hold."

Jaime blinked at her with mock innocence and swatted her behind lightly through the bustle and the layers of varying fabrics. "Did you learn yours?"

She raised a single eyebrow at him to let him know what she thought of the reminder and he backed down easily enough. "I've made my threat against that now, haven't I?"

"Aye, you have at that," he agreed, smile still in place. "And if my sassenach can learn, there's hope for the bairn at that."

He turned her in his arms and pressed a kiss against her temple. Together, they watched the child slosh more water on the floor than on herself, a small puddle tinted pink forming at her feet and staining the hem of her skirt. Maybe she would learn, and maybe it would be more than just not to steal out of boredom. Perhaps one day, when faced with her own recalcitrant child, she would opt for the less bruising of the lessons. Claire doubted she would have her own legacy to live out the lesson given her age and lack of success with Frank, despite Jaime's best attempts to prove otherwise. She hoped that having an influence on even just one wayward child would be enough to satisfy her heart.

Of course, should Jamie take her to their chambers that evening and try yet again to gift her with one that she could teach as her own, well, she wasn't about to complain about that at all.

End.


End file.
